I have so many questions about marriage: How does it last? How should one act in a marriage? Is there really a meaning to the vows that people take in front of the altar?
I don’t have the answers yet, and I’m not sure I will ever find them.
But what I do know is that when I do get married, I will, as much as I possibly can, avoid fighting that inevitable fight with my partner, in front of our would-be children.
There has never been a sound on earth that I hate more than the raised voices of my parents when they argue. I hate it more than nails on a blackboard, more than a boring three hour lecture, even more than Ariana Grande’s speaking voice. Parents’ arguments are like missing your monthly period. The first time, you know it’s normal. It happens, and like a zit on your face, you only have to wait and in a matter of time, the problem goes away. It’s when the problem becomes a regularity that you know you should worry. It’s when the shouting becomes a louder bedtime nursery that you know something’s wrong. It’s when you stop crying and hiding in your room, when you roll your eyes instead, and carry on as if nothing was wrong.
Listening to fights does something to the children. It is when they first question the legitimacy of childhood ever afters. Something inside them is forced to act like the adult they are not. And they take in and digest the hateful words. They push themselves to be harder and wiser, because maybe being those things would act as the glue that would hold their parents together. They are forced to question their value as a unit of the family–because no one who cared about them would have had the thoughtlessness to hurt them like that.
I think it’s a responsibility parents should take, because shouts in the dark destroy so much more than night time peace.